Nicole Kidman gives a compelling, vulnerable performance in Babygirl, as a woman for whom sexual satisfaction requires her to relinquish the power she otherwise projects throughout her life, and who begins an affair with a much younger man she finds herself unable to resist. Unfortunately, that’s the only significant thing to recommend about the film, which we find superficial, badly thought out, and most crucially of all for Mike, nowhere near steamy enough. It’s good fun to discuss, though, and gives us opportunity to reminisce about sneaking into films we weren’t allowed to see when we were kids. Stick around to learn José’s Looney Tunes technique for fooling the ticket guy.
A film whose brilliant conceit is so simple and compelling we can’t believe we’ve never seen it before, Juror #2 tells the story of a juror whose responsibility it is to assess the guilt of a defendant who he knows is innocent of murder – because it was the juror who did it.
Summoned to serve on a jury and quickly recognising the details of the case, Nicholas Hoult’s Justin realises that the deer he hit with his car one dark, stormy night was in fact the defendant’s girlfriend, for whose supposed murder he is on trial. So begins a morality play of sorts, Justin wanting to do the right thing and keep an innocent person from prison, but unwilling to expose himself as the real, if accidental, killer.
It’s a film that sets two institutions, the family and the court, at war. Justin’s wife has a baby on the way, and is there any wrong that can’t be justified by the protection of the family? We discuss this in the particular light of director Clint Eastwood’s reputation as a lifelong conservative, Mike suggesting that the distrust the film shows towards the legal system, a government institution, has precedent in Eastwood’s other work, but its critique of the sanctity of the family is surprising and invigorating.
Juror #2 is a thoroughly engrossing exploration of a terrific idea, and you’ll take its questions home with you long after it ends. What would you do? Are you sure? With José Arroyo of First Impressions and Michael Glass of Writing About Film.
Ridley Scott returns to Gladiator after more than twenty years, telling a story that’s broadly the same, but neatly picks up from the original too. Gladiator II stars Paul Mescal in the central role, and we discuss whether he has the movie star charisma to match his indie film credentials; we also talk action, visual effects, Denzel Washington’s Iago figure, the trope of the gay villain, and more.
2019’s Joker, which gave the iconic supervillain an all-purpose mental health disorder, a tragic origin story, and a name – Arthur Fleck – was never meant to have a sequel. But it made a billion dollars, so Joker: Folie à Deux is here. And, being a jukebox musical based primarily on show tunes from the mid-20th century canon, we ask who it’s for. The first film took risks in eschewing so many trappings of the comic book genre; did the filmmakers hope that their audience would respond similarly to further experimentation? Or is it a means of punishing an audience they attracted but loathe?
If the film hates its audience… well, so does Mike, which might explain why he got on with it. José, on the other hand, liked the first film, and is happy to see more of Joaquin Phoenix and hear those classic songs. Joker: Folie à Deux is far from a great film, not that close to a good film, and doesn’t have much of interest or intelligence to say about its themes – but it’s fascinating that it exists.
Francis Ford Coppola’s long-awaited passion project, Megalopolis, self-funded to the tune of $120m, has finally arrived. We love it. It’s wild, imaginative, earnest, and beautiful. We discuss and decry some of the criticisms of it we’ve already seen while coming up with some of our own – how could we have known that an octogenarian might hold rather traditional views? – in between breathlessly enthusing about what captivated us.
Megalopolis is hardly a perfect film but it’s a visual treat and a fantastic cinematic experience. Don’t let the naysayers’ sniping turn you off. Indulge!
One of cinema’s most infamous disasters, Caligula was conceived by producer Bob Guccione, the founder of Penthouse magazine, as an explicit, expensively-made adult film, about the rise and fall of the titular Roman emperor. In pursuing this, Guccione removed director Tinto Brass during post-production, so that he could have hardcore pornography shot and inserted into the film. On its release in 1979, Caligula was critically savaged on both moral and cinematic grounds, confiscated by police in some countries, banned in others, and the cause of lines that stretched around the block. It has remained an artifact of cult interest ever since, and the subject of occasional attempts to reconstruct it in a form that reflects something approaching its creators’ original visions – to whatever extent their visions agreed with each other.
Caligula: The Ultimate Cut is the most thorough of these reconstructions by far, benefitting from the rediscovery of 96 hours of original material, which had been rushed out of Italy and hidden during the film’s release. Opening intertitles claim that every frame of art historian Thomas Negovan’s cut is previously unseen. It’s long been wondered whether there’s a great film within Caligula; although we don’t think The Ultimate Cut demonstrates that there is, it’s entertaining and striking, and offers an idea of what might have been.
Wim Wenders finds inspiration in Japanese public lavatories in Perfect Days, a slice of life drama about Hirayama, a janitor who finds quiet happiness in his routine of travelling from public convenience to public convenience cleaning, photographing trees in the park, being welcomed at restaurants by proprietors who fetch him his usuals, and reading books before bed. We discuss Wenders’ delicate touch and observational eye, Kōji Yakusho’s central performance, for which he was named Best Actor at Cannes, how small moments indicate whole avenues of a person’s life, and the film’s theme of connections between the individual worlds in which we live.
Writer-director Cord Jefferson’s debut feature, American Fiction, combines satire with family dynamics to fairly charming, if visually uninspiring, effect. Jeffrey Wright’s Thelonius is a novelist forced into a leave of absence from his teaching position, whereupon he returns to Boston and reconnects with his family, from whom he’s distant. He’s also furious that his latest manuscript has been rejected for not being black enough, and that what “black enough” means involves every negative stereotype of black people and culture imaginable. But when he sarcastically writes such a novel to shove society’s attitude in its face, it’s taken seriously by the white literary elite, who shower it with praise.
From the trailer, Mike was expecting more focus on the satire, and more energy à la Boots Riley’s Sorry to Bother You. It’s a surprise, then, that American Fiction spends so much time developing the family drama, but not an unpleasant one, and José finds that aspect the film’s most interesting. We consider the idea that the film uses the family story to practice what it preaches, offering a story about black people that doesn’t require them to be black in order to justify its existence – it’s a universal story about distanced siblings, a mother with failing health, and broken marriages. And we discuss the film’s ending, or lack thereof, in which the inescapability of the culture that demands stereotype is emphasised at the expense of a satisfying, earned conclusion to the story we’ve been told.
American Fiction doesn’t create a single artful image, and that ending is disappointing, but the film is also interesting, absorbing, and funny. Worth a look.
We find Maestro, Bradley Cooper’s latest actor-director star vehicle, which dramatises the life of iconic conductor Leonard Bernstein, to be dishonest, illustrative, and superficial Oscar bait. We also find it cinematically ambitious at times, with great production values – not many films of this type are being made with $80 million budgets. A mixed bag.
Alexander Payne evokes the Seventies in form and aesthetic in The Holdovers, a comedy-drama about the students and staff forced to stay at a New England boarding school over Christmas. It exudes charm and, over time, warmth, as the frosty relationship between student and teacher thaws, Payne handles the meandering tone beautifully, and it’s full of good jokes. For José, it doesn’t quite reach the level of the best in its genre; for Mike, it’s a good genre film elevated by some mysterious cinematic alchemy he doesn’t understand.
